


Trainwreck

by Firebowls



Category: Far Cry 3
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-15
Updated: 2015-03-13
Packaged: 2018-03-07 17:06:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3177466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Firebowls/pseuds/Firebowls
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With everything gone to shit, Callie was desperate to keep everyone alive, no matter what it took. Maybe making a deal with the island's beloved psychopath wasn't her best decision so far, but it might not end up being her worst either.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Heads, things, buildings

Rainy nights were the best back in the city. Callie loved how the slickened streets lit up under the harsh streetlamps and store windows, painting the normally pitch black street with neon sheens. It was the one time she found the city beautiful.

As Callie took in the slivers of moonlight edging the radio tower, her mind drifted across the globe to her home; there, she knew how many rats lived in each hole in the wall, which takeout places were still open at three in the morning, and the precise volume she could sing along to the radio without her housemates hearing. There, where everything was familiar to her, she knew how to relax.

"Oh, fuck!" The slick metal flooring squeaked under Jason's boots as he slipped. He grunted and steadied himself, while Callie bit back a laugh. Almost. Jason was unimpressed to see humour sparking in her eyes under the dim moonlight.

"Didn't you see the sign? 'Slippery when wet.'" Callie tried to suppress her grin and, upon failing miserably, began circling the catwalk to find a way to the next level. "There was a sign right?" Jason sighed in response. "No? Man, that is a lawsuit waiting to happen. Maybe if you crack your tailbone next time we can sue their asses. Make millions."

Spotting a lowered bit of the platform above, Callie hopped onto the railing and turned back to face the ledge. Jason was frowning at her, eyes wide. "You're kidding, right?"

"Wouldn't dream of it." Callie gave him her best doe-eyes before dragging her body onto the next floor.

Jason's boots scuffed against the metal catwalk as he trudged towards the railing. Each level was more dilapidated than the last, with many missing chunks of walkway replaced with thin boards. Callie wasn't surprised to feel the tower swaying in the heavy winds. It reminded her of the towers she and her friends made of wooden blocks as kids. Each person took a turn removing a block, and if the tower fell afterwards, they lost. What was that shit called again? It sounds like Bingo, doesn't it? But it's not Bingo. That's stupid. Django?

"Are all the towers this hard to climb?" Jason's voice shook as he slowly turned to face Callie, balancing precariously on the bars of the railing. He grasped onto Callie's outstretched arms like they were lifesavers in a storm, his last hope for survival.

"No," Callie grunted as she hoisted Jason onto her level. He scrambled to his feet, clutching the unreliable beams of the tower for support. "Only when it's raining," Callie muttered, a small smile on her face. The radio towers seemed to get worse and worse as they pushed southeast, but Callie preferred to keep that to herself.

They reached the tower's peak in silence, Jason following Callie's movements. She looked over the dwarfed jungle as she caught her breath. Callie didn't exactly approve of Jason's vote to start meddling in the islanders' war, but whenever she stood at the edge of a tower, the cool breeze slicing through the heavy jungle air, Callie didn't bother to think of why. She never thought that standing on a structure that swayed and groaned like it had a hangover could make her feel so safe.

Jason joined her, peering over the edge, his nails raking against the back of his head. "You know, I'm starting to think that climbing these things isn't worth the leverage. Feels like this thing could collapse at any minute."

Callie scoffed. This was exactly why she climbed alone. "Let's see here. These towers get us a better idea of the surrounding area – camps, wildlife, cool wreckages and shit, whatever – we can zip-line, which we planned to do when we booked our trip here anyways, and I get a prime seat to snipe some pirate assholes. But hey, if you've got a better idea, I'm open. " She shrugged.

"It's just…" Jason ran a hand over his face. "I don't want to take any unnecessary risks." His glassy eyes swept over the camp below them, where the red specks on patrol weaved between makeshift shacks lazily. His eyes moved up to the horizon. While Liza and Daisy were accounted for, the rest of their friends were out there somewhere. It hurt to think of Grant. Truth be told, Callie had a bit of a crush on him, but she'd never admit it to her friends. Least of all to Daisy. Callie had been tempted to comfort Daisy, tell her she understood how it felt to lose him, but it was all so wrong. Her feelings only felt more obscene now that he was gone.

Callie closed her eyes, mentally flicking off the switches rerouting her thoughts to emotions. So many movies were about people confronting their demons before reaching a fairy-tale ending, but Callie'd been doing a damn fine job of ignoring her grief so far, and she intended to keep on fighting the good fight. The rest of her friends were still out there. They were alive. If Callie had to hike up a hundred true-to-life Django towers to find them, that was fine by her. That's a Tarantino movie, you twit. What the fuck is it called then? Maybe Jason would know-

Jason was staring at her, a look of intense concentration edging his face. Callie decided her question could probably wait.

He spoke quietly. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize these towers were so fucked up. I wouldn't have asked you to keep doing this if I knew it was so dangerous. I mean, I know you never really agreed to help the Rakyat in the first place, so I just… I just feel like I'm forcing you, and it's not-"

Callie snorted. "Jason, if you say another word, I swear to god I'll jump," she deadpanned, despite the grin on her face. Callie couldn't stand seeing him get all emotional. "I like doing this. It's amazing! Just look at the view for fuck's sake." She threw an arm to gesture at the darkened horizon, the thick clumps of trees underneath it swaying gently in the night. "Besides, I'm probably a hell of a lot safer up here than down in the jungle. It's fine."

Callie cleared her throat and locked eyes with Jason. "To be honest, I've got something much more urgent on my mind."

Jason frowned. "What's up?"

"Stop me if this rings any bells, okay? When I was a kid, we used to make these stupid little block towers."

* * *

Even with a silencer to cover the initial blast, it's sometimes hard to miss hearing a bullet whizzing through a man's skull. It all depends on how close they are. If the guy's relatively alone, it's all cool; he won't have enough time to articulate anything beyond a deep gurgling in the back of his throat as blood shoots through his system. Easy in, easy out. If the guy's sitting around a campfire with his buddy, trading epic tales of how that broad couldn't fit him in her mouth without splitting her lip open, he was Jason's game.

Grimacing, Callie watched Jason drive his knife through the neck of the camp's last pirate, dropping the body like cargo. She'd take her degree of separation via rifle any day, thank you very much.

Within minutes, Rakyat poured into the camp. Jason grabbed a jeep while they raided the site. Callie stood, leaving her rifle on the ground. The wind ran its fingers through her hair as she watched the sun peer over the skyline. Pink and gold streaks leaked across the sky, cleaning the inky night from the world. Callie thought the sky was dismal in the city at night, but it looked blacker than an oil spill from the island.

"Ah fuck, I lost." A low voice from behind. Callie spun around to see a lean figure standing just a few feet away. His hands held something to his mouth, clicking it a few times before a small flame appeared above a lighter, illuminating his scarred face. He smiled into the flames. "Better, much better," he muttered. "My old lighter was a piece of shit." Callie gaped at him. What the fuck was Vaas doing here?

He lit his cigar and tucked the lighter in his back pocket, taking a long drag before blowing the smoke in Callie's face. "See, I bet myself you'd have all those assholes," he gestured to the camp, "dead before sunrise. What do you Americans say, eh? Close but no cigar." Vaas chuckled.

How long has he been waiting there? Callie hadn't heard anything. No cars, nothing. Was he alone? Why did he wait till she'd finished killing all his men before coming out? Callie was torn between the urge to scream and the desire to jump right off the tower. Instead, she smiled through tight lips. "Straight nicotine, huh? Are you trying to kick one habit using another? Because I hear that's not the best way to go about it."

Vaas smiled. "You seem nervous, my friend. Why? There is no need." He took a step forward. Callie tried to step back, but ended up just pressing herself against the railing. She let her eyes flick to the ground below them. No cars or pirates. Vaas was _actually_ here alone. His smile turned into a grin. "Don't worry, chica. I'm not here to hurt you."

Callie scoffed. "Is that right?"

Vaas' dark eyes gave her a quick once-over. He flicked his cigar away and raised his hands from his sides, palms up.

"Promise."

Yeah fucking right.

Callie drew her pistol just as the muzzle of Vaas' pressed into her skull.

"Hermana, unless you want your pretty little brains to be gone with the wind, I suggest you hand that over." Callie's grip tightened on her gun. Thoughts raced through her head. Vaas was going to kill her right fucking now, and then he would kill Jason and the girls, and Callie would be left spilling her guts off the edge of this flimsy goddamned tower and _Jenga_ , the game was called _motherfucking Jenga_ , and if one block fell they all did, and then _everyone would lose-_

The click of Vaas' pistol seemed to shake her skull. Callie swallowed, and then dropped the gun into Vaas' open palm. He tucked it in the back of his belt and, surprisingly, holstered his own pistol as well. Closing the distance between them, Vaas smiled sweetly. "Smart."

Callie didn't bother hiding the venom in her voice. "What do you want?" Other than our heads on pikes, that is.

"You and your friend Jason are working for the Rakyat, right? So I thought, hey, who better to ask for information than, well," Vaas held his arms out towards her.

Callie almost laughed. "Excuse me? Do you really think I'm gonna help you kill Jason?"

Vaas started back in shock. "What? No, no, I don't wanna kill him, hermana!" His grin was carnal. Hungry. "Just keep an eye on him is all."

"Oh, is that right?" The fucking nerve of Vaas. Callie wanted to spit in his face. "Well, okie-dokie then, I don't see why not. What you wanna know, boss?" Vaas actually laughed, clapping a hand on her shoulder amiably. Callie stiffened. She watched as he drew his machete and began stroking it idly.

"Here's the deal, chica: this war's been going on a long time. Too long. The Rakyat haven't changed in the slightest. They always find some ballsy person to become their new hero, some," he trailed off, running his fingers along the blade, searching for the right word. "…vigilante, like your friend Jason. The Rakyat want to make them into the perfect warrior. Then-" Vaas clapped his cheek, making a popping sound with his mouth. "Then I kill them. Rinse and fucking repeat.

"I want something different this time. Gonna switch up my tactics. You following?" His eyes flicked up to Callie, watching her expectantly. Callie stared back.

"…By _not_ killing Jason?" she guessed.

Vaas grinned, nodding as if to himself. "I'm gonna let him be the hero this time. He will win. Jason will rise," Vaas clenched a fist in the air, his voice rising theatrically, "and crush my men. I want the Rakyat to be _so, so close_ to victory, I want them to taste it, proclaim Jason as the perfect warrior. Then…" Vaas pointed his fingers at Callie like a gun and fired. "Dead. Hope goes bye-bye." Callie cocked an eyebrow. _So…you_ do _want me to kill him_. "Think about it, hermana! They'll be tired. They won't want to fight anymore. The Rakyat will submit!" Vaas laughed shortly. "But, I need your help."

Vaas' eyes glinted under the rising sun. Callie gripped the railing behind her, scraping off rust with her fingernails. "So, what makes you think I'm game with helping you kill my friend?"

"Glad you asked!" Vaas' eyes lit up as he spoke. "Because, Caroline, if you don't help me, I'll just kill him now. The Rakyat always do the same fucking thing. They will find some new kid to be their shining beacon of hope. If you want, I will wait and play with that one instead."

Callie was about done with this nonsense. "Yeah, well, thanks for the offer, asshole, but I don't think I'm gonna be shacking up with your gang anytime soon." Vaas said nothing, an amused smile glued to his face. Slowly, he stepped to the side, no longer blocking Callie from the ladder.

Hesitantly, Callie slung her rifle and pack over her shoulders. Why was he letting her go? Callie stepped over to the ladder, eyes fixed on Vaas, part of her mind sure he'd jump on her halfway across. But he didn't. Why? _It doesn't matter. He's fucking crazy._ Callie turned, lowering herself to the first rung.

"It's the Neck, ah?"

She froze.

"What?" Callie looked up at Vaas' cheerful face. He hadn't made a move to stop her.

"The Neck's Diner. That's where you and Jason are holed up, yeah? Maybe an hour southwest of here. Two sentries posted, one in the eastern mountains and one by some cave just north of there. Some nights, at 3 AM sharp, you guys all meet in the little shack with the green roof." Vaas tapped his chin thoughtfully. "I wanna know what goes on in there."

Callie's mouth was dry. He'd been watching them. For how long? Vaas just stood there, delighting at her speechlessness.

Callie refused to look back as she climbed down. Once she was in the jungle, in the blind spots of the radio tower, she ran.


	2. Bearers of a spark from the sacred fire

The Neck’s Diner was a small but decent camp, with only five modest buildings to it. Its main feature was a beat-up gas station, its sides coated with faded posters advertising quaint knickknacks and a karaoke night on Tuesdays. _What kind of gas station hosts karaoke?_ This one, apparently. Karaoke night in the little shack with the green roof. Callie’s eyes flicked across the still horizon. Was Vaas watching them now? Probably. But from where?

“Don’t tell me you haven’t got anything for me today.” Callie jumped. She turned to find Omid standing just a few feet away from her, rifle slung over his back. 

“Right. Shit, I almost forgot. Hold on.” Callie slung her pack over her shoulder and dropped to the ground. “You scared the shit outta me,” she muttered. “Sure you like just taking watch? I swear sometimes you’re quieter than Jason…”

A cheeky grin creased his pockmarked face. “I am certain. Assassination’s not really my cup of tea, if you can believe it.” 

“Suit yourself.” Callie drew a lump of patterned fabric from her bag and unwrapped it carefully for Omid to see. “I found two that I’ve never seen before, both by the mountains up north.”

Omid gingerly picked up a sprig of tiny orange and pink flowers. Callie thought they’d looked like fireworks spitting up from the ground. “Hm. I don’t actually know the name of these.” Omid picked at the stem with his fingernails, scraping at the outer wall. “And they were by the mountain base, you said?” Callie nodded. “They’re very pretty. Wonder if they’re edible.” 

“Only one way to find out.”

Omid quirked a brow. “Are you volunteering?” 

She grinned. “As much as I’d like to become the lovable martyr, I’ve got grander plans for how I’m going out. Something involving explosions, preferably, or fighting a huge bear with scars all Moby-Dick-style.”

Omid threw his head back in laughter, and Callie caught something in the corner of her vision. Movement in the hills beyond the gas station. Her eyes latched onto the area to find it undisturbed, save for a few leaves shifting from the breeze. “Here’s a familiar face,” Omid said, cradling the second sprig of flowers in his palms. Callie didn’t think she could feel any wind. No, definitely not. Maybe?

“These are actually called Icarus feathers,” he continued. “They’re a heavy aphrodisiac, so that’s good.” Callie didn’t see the leaves moving anymore. Had she imagined it in the first place? “Sometimes a man needs help getting up just like Icarus. All he needs is a pinch, and he’s soaring.”

That got to her. “Omid, come _on_. That’s bullshit. Isn’t it?” 

He cackled, clapping one hand against his leg giddily. “What? Running out of patience for a poor old man?” His grin softened as he looked back at the flowers. He shook his head softly. “These are called oxalis. I’ve always found these flowers are very interesting. They actually sleep at night.”

Callie frowned. “Come again?”

“They close up. Bloom again every morning. A lot of people see them as having a special connection with humanity.” Callie hadn’t seen many of the flowers, but the ones she’d found were hard to miss. They had fat petals that were as white as paper. “The oxalis represent balance and order,” Omid said, “so they are often used as treatment for sicknesses of the mind.”

Callie nodded. She found her eyes drifting back to the field behind the gas station. “Sign me up then,” she muttered. “My head could probably use some cleansing.” She spared Omid a grin before her gaze flitted back to the hills.

Callie jumped as a voice from behind chimed in. “Are you still worrying about that?” She whirled around to see Jason sigh. “We’re not gonna blow up, okay? It’s dry.”

She pressed a hand to her frantic heart _. Those two are like ghosts._ “Fuck,” Callie breathed. She tried unsuccessfully to recap what Jason had said. “What?”

“You’ve been glaring at the pumps for the last five minutes.” Jason gestured towards the gas station. “Thing’s dry as a bone. Otherwise it probably would’ve caught fire just from you staring at it.”

Omid snorted. His face was flushed cherry red with artfully contained laughter. He shrugged. “He’s right you know. You seem more paranoid than usual.”

“Gee, thanks,” Callie said. Sure, she’d felt like something might blow up in her face soon, but for once it wasn’t the pump. _Thanks for the out though._ “Can’t we just clear out the place and check it? All it takes is one bullet, and if it’s all safe, there’s no harm done. But if there’s still gas left in those tanks, you’re gonna be glad it didn’t blow while we were around.”

Jason sighed. “When you put it that way, I guess it’s fair. Do what you want. I’m off.”

“Where to?”

Jason eyed the white flower in Omid’s hands. “Well, since you’ve clearly got the garnish ready, I figured I might as well find dinner.” Jason tugged at the nearly empty quiver on his shoulder.

Omid worked at arranging the flowers neatly on the cloth. “I would not recommend it as garnish.”

Jason frowned at the white flower. “Why? Is it poisonous?”

“No,” he said, “Just tastes like shit.”

Callie hummed thoughtfully. “The flower of humanity tastes like shit, huh? Poetic.”

Jason shrugged before turning away. “Sounds about right. I’ll be back.”

Callie watched as Omid carefully folded the fabric over his new prizes. She hoped he could find a use for them, but even if he didn’t, he seemed to have fun trying. She never found botany all that interesting – architecture was more her speed – but Omid talked of plants with such vigour that you’d think each one was as carefully crafted as a skyscraper, and with just as much history as its tenants.

Omid stood, his package clutched against his chest. “So, do you want me to gather the men?” He nodded towards the pumps.

Although it wasn’t her chief concern at the moment, the gas station had been sitting on the backburner of Callie’s head for a while now. “Sure. It’ll only take five minutes or so anyway, and it’ll be a load off my mind.”

Omid snorted, but nodded in assent. “Just let me put these away."

 

* * *

 

It was foul, but a little enticing too. It slipped in through her nostrils and coiled like a snake in her stomach. As sickening as it was, she felt no real impulsion to cage it out. Instead, she tasted it, breathed it in and let it play with her senses as she tried to identify the stench. It wasn’t especially strong, but it was there all the same. It made her think of the city, of cars without cares racing by the bustling streets.

It made her feel strong, as if she could ride on the highs of the cars and the people within them. _Gasoline_.

Callie started into a sitting position, tossing her covers onto the ground. As she took in the darkness of her room, cracked only by the faint light of the windows, she sighed. The muscles of her body relaxed back against the bed, soaking up the crisp silence. As always, the smell was gone when she woke up. Callie checked her watch. 2:58. Well, she was certainly a stickler for routine. Callie closed her eyes.

Jason had returned with a hunk of venison last night not long after Callie’d finished her test. He’d been right: the pumps seemed dry, and they now sported a neat bullet hole right by the gauge’s dial to attest to their safety. So why was it still waking her up at night? Sure, it could’ve been a fluke shot, but it had been enough to sate her at the time. Callie opened her eyes and stared at the ceiling, waiting. She began to pick out the gaps in the boards, and eventually the rough textures coating them.

There was a light knock at her window, and she turned just in time to see a figure passing by outside. Jason. Guess there’s a meeting tonight after all. Rising from her stiff bed, Callie smoothed her hair down and headed out the door.


	3. I had jumped, it seems

When Callie was young, her family spent every Sunday morning driving to a small church in town. They were buffed in iron shirts and floral dresses, with their shoes all washed up from the night before. Her mother looked beautiful with dyed lilacs twirling down to her heels, and though Callie hated the rough lace edging her own summer dress, it was a small burden to complete her family’s image. If her brother could keep from picking at the loose threads on his shirt, she could certainly sit still for a bit.

Although she didn’t know that many people – her parents weren’t exactly socialites – Callie swore that the churchgoers were the nicest people in town. There was only a handful of them, and though she struggled to remember all of their names, they all knew hers. They asked her how she was doing in school, whether she ever played with their own kids at recess, what her favourite colour was, and all the usual gossip a child held. The little church hall would fill with echoing laughter and cheery stories, each stone crevice flooding with life. Then, when Pastor Connolly found his place at the front, the voices receded into a heavy silence, interrupted only by pattering feet finding their usual seats.

It wasn’t uncommon to start a sermon with an announcement from one of the townspeople, but one morning was different. The pastor had brought Ms. Hester to the front of the church for a needless introduction. That was a name even Callie had remembered: she’d brought in lemon squares for the church bake sale a few months back. When no one was looking, she snuck Callie one of the squares. It had a crisp, sugary coating, the inside warm and moist. Not wanting to blow the woman’s cover, Callie kept her compliments to herself.

That day, Ms. Hester was propped up limply against the organ behind the pastor, like a doll with cotton-stuffed veins. Though her smile was still sweet, she was different. It looked like her skin was stretched too tight over her shoulders and around her face, and loosened everywhere else. Her eyes peeked out of her skull, cloudy and grey. Taking in her figure, Callie thought Ms. Hester’s threads were coming undone.

Pastor Connolly told the crowd that Ms. Hester had fallen ill with leukemia, and asked if everyone would please pray for her wellbeing. She was stepping out onto the road of recovery, but she would need some support.

Callie wanted to do her part. On the weekend, she and her dad baked some lemon bread for her. When she saw tears prick Ms. Hester’s eyes as she accepted the loaf, Callie worried that they’d offended her somehow. But the frail woman hugged each of them with more strength than she seemed to have. As small as she’d become, Ms. Hester was still warm.

The next week, Ms. Hester’s seat was empty. The pastor dove straight into his service with no announcements.

Her dad took her aside that evening for a talk. Ms. Hester had passed away in her sleep early that morning. Callie didn’t understand why no one had said anything; it was like they were pretending she was still sitting there, beaming as always. They were paying their respects silently, he told her.

Callie did the same. She stopped and hoped that Ms. Hester would have a safe trip to the sky whenever the notion hit her. Did the rest of her family do the same? If they did, it went unspoken.

The next Sunday, the church ballooned with its usual conversations. Callie listened for Ms. Hester’s name. As Pastor Connolly took his place, the voices deteriorated into a heavy silence. The air hung thick with their unspoken laments and prayers. Callie looked ahead. She saw that the gap left by Ms. Hester’s absence had been filled. Callie realized that she was wrong: the silence was soaked through with something else, and whatever it was, she felt it dripping onto her shoulders and creeping down her legs in cold sheets. The churchgoers were once again a single mass of listeners.

When Pastor Connolly began to speak, the silence behind his booming voice became suffocating. The lace of Callie’s sleeves was piercing and burrowing into her skin. Her skirt bunched up around her. She itched. Ms. Hester was gone. Callie thought that the same thing might happen to her parents – they would be gone one day, spirited away by leukemia, or something even faster. Then, a week later, Callie would forget all about them. The idea terrified her.

Callie hadn’t gone back to church since that day; the silent hall felt sacrilegious, even as that word gradually lost its meaning for her. Those few weeks had sunk deep into Callie’s mind where she rarely reached, but her surroundings made them surface for a brief gasp of air. In a passing flash, her memories were crisp, and baking beneath the sun.

Standing in front of Citra, her temple lined with warriors bowed low to the ground, Callie found herself shivering and picking at nonexistent sleeves. When Dennis proposed this trip last night, he promised that Citra would wow them. Well, having left Jason in a drug-induced haze, gasping out inane fragments of what he saw, she had certainly made an impression. Once Dennis convinced Callie he would watch Jason and make sure he didn’t go charging out of the temple, she relaxed a bit. She’d still propped herself up by the exit, though. Just in case.

From what she could gather, Jason was off in loopy-land chasing some guy wearing white – could be God, could be Luke Skywalker for all she knew. She doubted that either man had what Citra wanted, but Dennis had confidence that the elixir would help Jason find it. Of course he had misgivings about the pungent drink, but Dennis reassured him. No, no! It was perfectly safe. He wanted to save his friends, didn’t he? Callie noted that, while Jason didn’t usually need much coaxing to try any new pharma-dream in a bottle, Dennis’ pitch was the best she’d heard so far.

Callie peered out the temple gate. The Rakyat they’d brought, Thomas, leaned against the outer wall smoking a cigarette. He hadn’t been allowed inside, but it didn’t seem to bother him. He’d just kept quiet. The wind blew the nicotine towards Callie’s face, and she suppressed a cough. First Vaas, now this guy. _He’s a double-agent. Vaas’ ultimate plan is actually to give me lung cancer. Diabolical._

The leaves of the jungle rustled outside the temple, making the trees whisper amongst themselves. So long as you weren’t self-conscious (and insane) enough to think they were talking about you, there was comfort in this low humming. It kept the scenery from a deathly silence, and it helped to remind Callie that this jungle was one of the many things that would always go bump in the night. Sure, sometimes that bump was gunfire and bestial screeches, but it was quickly becoming background noise.

Callie tipped her head to the side. Jason was talking, coherently this time. Moments later, he paraded past her, practically jumping out of the temple. Callie scoffed. Staying by the front gate was a good choice after all. “Yo! Twinkle-toes. Wait up.”

Jason turned, his eyes widening as he spotted Callie following him outside. He stared at her as if seeing her for the first time. Excitement edged his voice. “Callie! We need to find the-”

“Yeah, the man in white, right? I heard you. We _all_ heard you.” Thomas, who still hadn’t said a word, snickered as he nodded his head in agreement. _Note to self: do not talk secrets in that temple. The acoustics are strangely good._

Jason smirked. “So you’re up-to-date then. Dennis said we need to look in Badtown. Sounds inviting, huh?”

“Sure does. How does Dennis know that?” On cue, Dennis appeared from the temple gate.

“I saw a bar in my vision. Apparently it’s one in Badtown.”

She nodded. “Great. What’re we waiting for then?”

“My thoughts exactly.” Jason slung his pack off his shoulder and dug through it. “It’s a ways north of our camp.”

As Jason pulled out his map of the Rook Islands, Dennis raised his head. “Jason,” he called, “it is getting late. We should set up camp for the night and leave in the morning.”

Jason frowned. The map hung limp in his hand. “Badtown can’t be any more than 20 minutes away. Let’s just go now.”

“If we go now,” Dennis said, shaking a finger absently, “then it will be dark by the time you find where your friend is being kept, and you will not want to sleep. I know you, Jason. You will want to keep going, just like you do now.”

As much Callie wanted to weigh in on Dennis claiming to know Jason after only a week, he had a point. “Dennis is right. You’ll just want to keep going, so we might as well stop now and find Olly tomorrow.”

Jason crinkled the map beneath his fingers, working his jaw. “Fuck,” he breathed. “Fine. We’ll stop for the night.”

They set up a tent from their jeep on the shore a little ways away from Citra’s temple. Thomas went to bed first; apparently he was too stoic to mention how tired he felt earlier. Callie, Jason, and Dennis stayed up late discussing what was next over a makeshift fire. Jason was certain Vaas had kept Oliver for ransom – his parents were loaded, as Olly was wont to admit at gunpoint – but Keith and Riley were a mystery. Dennis promised them that Vaas wouldn’t have gotten rid of them so soon, not when there was a chance of profit.

When the fire eventually died out, Dennis retired to the tent. He left an uncomfortable silence behind him, marked only by the soft sound of Jason striking a match and nursing the fire. Callie raised a brow. Did he even plan on going to sleep tonight? Delaying their trip to Badtown had pricked his good mood, which deflated as the night fell. Now he was frowning at the small fire while he turned over the black coals with a charred branch.

She cleared her throat. “So… Citra, huh? She was pleasant.”

Jason whistled under his breath. “Yeah, she was…definitely something.”

“Please don’t tell me you thought Dennis was playing wingman for you back there.”

Jason scoffed, eyes widened at her. “Fuck, of course not. We’ve got more important things to deal with, remember?” As he turned back to the fire, Callie rolled her eyes. _Sure I remember, but that didn’t stop you from staring at her breasts_. She bit her tongue. Not the time.

The fire wasn’t getting any bigger. With a sigh, Jason sat back and let it be. “At least we’re making progress,” Callie said. “I didn’t think that shit you drank would give you ‘ _the sight’_ or something. Honestly, I kinda thought it was going to kill you, so this is a pretty nice turnout.”

Jason raised his eyebrows, chuckling under his breath. “Yeah, I thought so too. I’m not gonna question how it worked, but it did.”

“Fuck yeah, it did. You were tripping balls back there. Should’ve saved some for Olly, it’d be right up his alley.” Jason’s smile twitched. That was the wrong button to press. Whoops. Callie swallowed. “Don’t look so worried; we’re one step closer to finding everyone, after all.” That also meant they were a step closer to the madman running this operation, but they had to cross one bridge at a time.

Jason sighed. “You’re right. I’ve been so fucking wired since coming here.” He pressed his hands into his eyes, leaning back. “I need to relax.”

They fell back into silence. Callie played with her belt loops as she watched the southern coastline. According to Dennis, the pirates here were nothing compared to the presence on the other island. They were lucky Vaas was so independent; if Hoyt were to gain any interest in them, the north island would be flooded with his men.

A growing light to the west caught Callie’s eye. The sconces at the back of Citra’s temple were being lit. While Callie had to admire the respect she commanded over the Rakyat, Citra took the role to a whole new level of arrogance. She’d spared Callie a brief once-over when they first entered; after that, Citra’s eyes were trained on Jason, ignoring Callie entirely. She figured it was either because she had no tats or no dick, or maybe a combination of the two. Either way, she was clearly useless to Citra.

Callie bit her lip. “Hey,” she said. Jason had been looking westward as well, and he jumped a bit before meeting her eyes. “Do you really think she’ll help us?”

“Do you think she won’t?”

“Well, I dunno.” Callie shrugged. “I mean, she seemed pretty full of herself. What with the whole Amazon princess thing she’s got goin’ on. And the army. And that part where she was gonna cut off your arm - that was pretty fucked, huh?”

“Your point being…?”

“…being I can’t see her helping us without a good reason. ‘What’s in it for me?’ That type of thing.”

A cool breeze tousled the sand on the ground. Jason followed it, again gazing towards the firelight topping Citra’s temple. In the dark of the night, they looked like two floating wisps. “The way I see it,” Jason said, “she clearly hasn’t been winning this war so far. Citra needs our help. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have spoken to us at all.”

Callie’s brow furrowed. _I don’t know that Citra’s the one who needs help here._ “That’s fair,” she said.

She eventually left Jason to tend to the fire, only realizing how tired she was when she settled in. The ground beneath the thin fabric of the tent felt more amazing than it should have. Within a few minutes, she was out.

* * *

The darkness of her eyelids seemed to move, sputtering this way and that like the film grain on old horror movies. She heard a soft scraping sound, like a body being dragged. Callie would have screamed when she realized it was her own body scraping against the sand, except a hand was clamped over her mouth.

Callie’s eyes flew open as her body spun to life, scrambling to her feet. The hand fell away from her mouth, but she didn’t dare speak. “Eh! Morning, sunshine!” She searched the area, her eyes adjusting to the darkness until they made out Vaas’ smiling face. “You can walk, okay? You are heavier than you look.”

Clamped onto her upper arm, he dragged Callie further along the beach. With her free hand, she patted down her pockets. No weapons. Fantastic. Vaas came to a stop a little ways away from the tent. Callie stood where he left her, shaking as the cold night air met her bare legs. She cursed under her breath. “What the fuck do _you_ want?”

“Well, I was just in the area.” Vaas clapped his hands together, creating a cloud of dust. “Thought I’d drop by. See how your little ragtag bunch of misfits is doing.”

 _Fuck_. “Great.” Callie brushed her fingers through her hair. “Could you not have woken me up like a normal person? Christ.”

Vaas glowered at her. “Yeah, I would’ve thrown rocks at the window, but it’s a fucking tent. Okay?” He dropped to the ground, crossing his legs. “Do you want to sit?”

“Is that a question?” He glared at her. She sat.

Vaas wanted something from her. That meant she couldn’t really be in any danger, right? Her jittering fingers tried to tell her otherwise.

Vaas was picking dirt out from under his fingernails. “So, what did you think of my sister?”

“Your sister?” she muttered. Callie pitied whatever family had to grow up with this lunatic. She couldn’t picture him having a baby sister, not unless- _Wait. What the fuck?_ “ _Citra?_ Citra’s your _sister?_ ”

Vaas flicked away a strip of fingernail. “She’s a bitch is what she is. Do _this_ , kill _that_ – always has to get her fuckin’ way. Slut.” He grunted. A small pearl of blood beaded on the tip of his finger. Callie pictured Citra with a knife in one hand and Jason’s arm in the other. Maybe that wasn’t so shocking after all. “But I’m not here to talk about her.” Vaas’ eyes met Callie’s. They shone against the dark sky. “I wanted to catch up with you earlier, but I got tied up in other shit. Where you off to next?”

Callie bit her lip. She didn’t have much of a choice. As if reading her thoughts, Vaas grinned. “Remember, I have ropes around all your little friends’ necks. Just gotta pull a few strings and-” he whistled, “-up they go.” All at once, the brightness in his face died. Everything was quiet. “Hermana, I’m gonna ask you one more time. What did your crew dream up back at your camp last night?”

Callie looked away from Vaas to the horizon. “Well, we planned today’s little excursion.”

“Okay. What else?”

“We talked about what outpost to take next.”

“Which one?”

“I-“ The tent billowed in the wind, drawing Callie’s eyes. Had Jason gone to bed last night? He must’ve. She swallowed. “The repair shop. The one on the east coast.”

“That’s right. Okay.” Vaas nodded, eyes drifting to the sky. Then they snapped back to Callie. “That it?” She nodded. “You know, lying is very rude.”

“We’re gonna go find my friend Oliver.

Vaas tasted the name. “Oliver…that the rich kid?” Callie nodded. “Oh, I know where he is.”

“Wanna save us some time here and just tell me?”

“Oh sure,” he scoffed. “And then you can run off and tell Jason, ah? Remember: just ‘cause you got an fuckin’ ace up your sleeve, doesn’t mean you can pull it out without getting caught.”

 _Yeah, I was hanging with the pirate king and figured I might as well ask. Turns out he was surprisingly charitable._ That’d go over well. Although technically the ace was not up Callie’s sleeve but sitting cross-legged in front of her, Vaas was right. Whatever information he might give her was useless.

Callie sighed. “But Olly’s still with you?” Vaas nodded, again picking at his fingers. “I figured you would’ve just recorded the ransom videos and then sold them or whatever you fuckers do.”

Vaas scoffed, muttering something in Spanish. “Chica, I _wish_. Parents are such whiny people.” His voice raised an octave. “’Ooh, where is he? Where is my Billy? Let me see him you prick. I’m not giving you shit until you let me see my Billy!’” He cackled.

Callie’s eyes darted over to the tent. “Fuck, do you want to wake them up?” she wheezed. “If you’re gonna blow your cover that’s cool, but will you please leave me out of it?”

He rolled his eyes. “Here.” Vaas scooted over so he was sitting right beside her. He reached out, and Callie felt the blade of his knife brushing against her throat. “This way if anyone comes out, it will look like you’re _not_ sitting here out of your own free will. Happy?”

Callie actually laughed, despite the blade’s proximity to her neck. “I’m not exactly here out of my own free will in the first place, anyway, so why the fuck not? Top it off here, why don’t you.”

“Well is it convincing enough?”

“I don’t fucking know.”

“Okay. How ‘bout I do this?” Vaas asked, cozying up closer until he was hugging her from behind.

No sooner did his free hand snake up to her breast than Callie slapped it away. “Fuck _off_!” she hissed. She began to squirm, but stilled as the knife again found its place below her chin.

He chuckled, albeit quietly this time. _Good. The last thing I want is Jason seeing me trapped in a fucking bear hug with this creep._ Vaas’ hand moved to her head, petting her hair thoughtfully. Callie wasn’t sure how long they stayed like this, staring out at the coast together like drowsy honeymooners, her insides squirming while the rest of her froze.

Eventually and without a word, Vaas stood. Callie didn’t move, certain he was still there. After a few minutes of silence, however, she risked turning around. He was just staring at her, one hand tracing the scar on his brow.

His bright eyes fell. “Does that hurt?” Callie looked down to where he was motioning at her red legs, scraped raw by the sand from when he dragged her. Vaas clicked his tongue. “Looks like it hurts. You should probably wash it.” With a half-hearted wave, he was off. Callie watched him disappear into the jungle.

She felt a strong urge to bury her head in the sand – after all, she was already digging a very deep hole for herself. How was she going to explain her legs? Hell, they were probably going to get infected unless she did something about it. Carefully, she lifted herself off the ground and headed towards the water. It stung like a bitch on her pink skin, but it was the least she could do.

The sand clumped onto her wet feet as Callie lumbered back to the tent. She was playing right into Vaas’ hand, and she couldn’t help but wonder if she was saving her friends after all, or just delaying the inevitable.


	4. Fit for nothing but placid staring

When the sun rose, it brought with it light that shimmered on the golden sand, a chorus of birds from the jungle, and a very anxious Jason. As soon as she dared to creep back into the tent last night, Callie fell like a thunderstruck tree, probably asleep before she hit the ground. She hadn’t realized how much she’d needed sleep, but God had it felt nice. Of course, when Jason silently rose from his own spot, she’d woken up immediately. For a second, she thought he was Grant.

As much as Callie loved Daisy, she definitely regretted renting a place together. She always used to wake up when Grant snuck out of Daisy’s room late at night. He seemed to hit every creaky floorboard like notes on a keyboard; at first, Callie thought he was just noisy. Then she started hating Daisy’s easy friendliness, hated seeing the two together. Callie found herself staying rooted in bed for half the day to avoid a singsong _g’morning_ , and when Grant eventually stopped sneaking out and just stayed the night, Callie didn’t sleep at all. That was the night she realized she had a problem.

She played sick the next day – and why not? Her body ached like it was crushed in a compactor, and she felt like overall shit anyway. Around noon, Grant and Daisy brought her what they called a “homemade cold survival kit”. She’d laughed to hide the shame blaring in her skull. The next night, Callie decided to crumple this new problem into a ball and toss it into the cracks of her mind. She waited it out until a better plan was clearly necessary, one involving a practiced smile and keeping very, very busy. She had to admit that, of all the distractions she’d tried, this turf war was the most effective.

Callie blinked, fully awake now. Dennis and the two soldiers were still fast asleep. She peered out of the tent. Jason was still pacing along the shore, his eyes sweeping the horizon like a lighthouse. _Guess I should say hi, huh?_ She pushed off the ground, and then stopped, crouching awkwardly at the edge of the tent as her stomach dropped like an anchor. While she doubted anyone was lining up to gawk at her boyish legs, Callie remembered how red they’d looked last night. Dropping back down, she peeled back her capris. Surprisingly, her legs weren’t so bad. The skin was a little pink in some places, but nothing you’d notice unless you went looking for it. Maybe it was because she’d taken Vaas’ advice and washed them. She made a mental note to thank him next time they met – or she would have, had there been room for courtesy between them. _Plus, there isn’t going to_ be _a next time. Right, Callie, ol’ buddy?_

Her churning guts didn’t seem so sure. She could hear them now, twisting and scraping against one another, scratching her skin and sighing softly. Those were actually the sounds of the man tossing beside her, but they were accurate enough; Callie could practically see her vital organs, all red and knotted. She grimaced. _Ugh. Definitely enough daydreaming._ Straightening out her clothes – and tugging her capris down – Callie crawled out onto the beach.

She didn’t see Jason at first. Maybe that was because she expected to find him still jittering around and swearing under his breath, acting as their very own passive-aggressive alarm clock. Instead, Jason was plopped down on the sand, his glassy eyes fixed on the jungle, and a little pile of fruits keeping company beside him. Footprints spiraled and swerved out from around him, spinning abstract patterns in the sand. He looked like a sacrifice on a pentagram, waiting for some greater power to strike him down. _‘Listen as your own blood cries out to me from the ground. It will no longer yield its crops for you, as you are a restless wanderer of this earth.’ Is that how it goes?_ She used to try and memorize passages from the bible, but nothing really stuck. Except for now, it seemed, when the Scripture couldn’t possibly be any more useless. Funny.

Callie kicked up the sand as she walked so as not to spook him; if the Rook Islands taught her anything, it was not to sneak up on a guy with a weapon, not unless you wanted a couple avant-garde piercings. Her stomach still wrenched. _Nothing happened last night. Nothing avoidable, and nothing he needs to know about. Nothing._ She had to laugh when Jason didn’t turn around, as if pretending not to hear her. The tension on her shoulders seemed to evaporate.

“Nervous?” she asked, tugging at her capris.

He finally turned to her, his eyes glazed as if he’d only just woken up. “Not exactly. Why?”

“Really? It looks like an army’s been through here.” She motioned to the marked-up ground around him, raising her eyebrows.

Jason looked down at his handiwork. “Whoa. I didn’t realize I was walking so much.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I got us some breakfast.”

“So I saw! Always the gentleman, aren’t you?”

With a smile and a polite nod, he flipped her off. Then his eyes found the tent behind her, and the smile faded into a thoughtful look. “Guess we should wake up the guys soon.”

Callie followed his gaze. “Yeah,” she said, “they’ve slept long enough. Besides, we’ve got a Jedi to find.”

“What?”

“Nothin’.” She shrugged, “Where’s Badtown again?”

Jason just huffed. There was a sharp glint in his eyes, though, a bit of hope left caked on the surface. If they were lucky, they’d be seeing Ollie before sunset.

* * *

 

They didn’t bother stopping by the Neck on their way to Badtown. Callie and Jason were equally antsy at that point, and Dennis thought better than to raise the question. Instead, he radioed over and brought the guards up to speed with where they were headed. Callie told Dennis to give a shout-out to Omid, saying he’d know what it meant. He probably wouldn’t, but that was fine. He’d just laugh and shake his head.

On the ride there, Callie couldn’t help but imagine Badtown as some flamboyant gathering place for a bunch of classic cartoon baddies – Pete from those old Mickey Mouse cartoons, maybe some of the lamer Batman villains like Calendar Man, Tom, and– _Er, wait, which one is the villain? Tom or Jerry? I guess Jerry’s the instigator, but that just makes him a shit-disturber. Doesn’t make him evil._ Although Callie and Jason were quiet for the ride, she doubted he was also trying to assign moral compasses to a cat and a mouse.

As it turned out, neither Tom nor Jerry was there, anyway Instead there were a few beggars claiming to tell fortunes, a quaint little bar, and enough prostitutes to keep the Count from Sesame Street busy for at least a day.

“So,” Callie said, hopping out of the truck, “you want backup on this?”

Jason grunted, following her lead. “I think I’m good. Besides, a sniper’s not much use when I’m gonna be indoors.” He smirked.

“Good point.” As much as she’d rather not, Callie needed to learn her way around using a knife. Even if she could blow a man’s face clean off from a quarter of a mile away, the distance from her target and her effectiveness as a fighter had an inverse relationship.

As Jason trudged towards the bar, Callie leaned against a shady house, sharing the spot with one of the quieter Rakyat men. Although she couldn’t remember his name, she’d started referring to him as the toy soldier – in her head, at least.

A rail-thin girl called out from a balcony above them. “Hey, little birds! What are you into, huh? _Se mío!_ ” Callie and the soldier both gave the girl the same polite but awkward smile before turning away.

Callie realized she hadn’t spoken to the boy much. That was partially because the way he moved creeped her out, like he was a husk just following the directions of his bones. Plus, he didn’t seem to get jokes, and Callie rarely meant half the things she said. That made talking a bit harder.

“So,” she tried, “what do you do for fun?”

He turned to see who she was talking to, his eyes widening a fraction when they met hers. _We’ve got some emotion, folks! Hallelujah!_ “Oh, I don’t do much. I just like to hunt.” He frowned. “I don’t know if that’s the right word.”

She nodded. “Well, what do you hunt?”

He thought for a second, before shrugging. “I hunt what people want me to find. Omid draws pictures of the flowers he wants a lot, so I like to use those.”

“That’s right, Omid’s told me about you before! You’re the scav with a photographic memory, right?” She grinned. “He said you’d probably get along better with cameras than with people. Uh, no offence.”

The toy soldier just frowned. “Scav?”

“Like, a scavenger.” The boy hummed in response. Callie’s eyes were drawn to the bar, where she saw a flash of white.

A man in a pristine suit walked the streets, shadowed by Jason’s casual stroll a block behind. When she caught Jason’s eye, she raised her eyebrows. He just shook his head and raised a hand. Stay. Callie’s knack for conversation dropped as she watched Jason follow the man into a little shack on the edge of town. Stay she would.

She watched the jungle sway in the easy breeze. Leaves from ferns and trees jutted out indiscriminately, bursting out in all directions. It was sharp enough to look like stumbling into the jungle meant getting skewered in the foliage; quick and easy dinner prep for one of the leopards. As absurd as it was, the jungle was clearly poised and ready for whatever might come. It was…unearthly. Too human, but still too foreign to belong here. That, or Callie didn’t belong – also very possible. She became incresingly aware of the silence that had grown between her and the boy, but he didn’t look bothered by it. He probably preferred it.

…What the hell was Jason _doing_ in there anyway? Sitting down for tea? _Or, y’know, the guy noticed him_ enter his fucking house _and stuck Jason knee-deep in his own blood._ She should check on him.

She turned to the boy. “Hey, I’m gonna…” He made no sign of hearing her. Shrugging, Callie pushed off of the wall.

Standing outside the door, one hand hovering above the knob, Callie stopped. What could she do? When it came to sneaking, Callie trusted herself best in city streets and factories – pretty much anywhere noisy enough to cover her incompetence. Otherwise she was like a damn parade, hitting every sweet spot of noise. Waltzing in there would be a clumsy move. _But if he’s in trouble, that doesn’t matter now, does it?_ No. She supposed it didn’t. Lightly, Callie’s hand landed on the doorknob.

The door flew open, smacking her in the face.

“Fuck!” Her hand flew to her nose. “Oh – oh, _fuck_ , Jason! _Jesus._ ”

“Shit. You okay?”

“Ugh. Yeah.” She scowled at him.

“I didn’t think there’d be anyone there. What were you doing?”

Callie sighed, still rubbing her face. “I thought you drowned in your fucking tea. Never mind.” She realized he was clutching some scrap of metal to his chest. It was a gun, a damned big one. “What the hell’s that?”

Jason’s eyes lit up, and his grin stretched wide enough to crack his skull open. He opened his arms, just a little. “Flamethrower.”

“ _What?_ ”

“Come _on!_ We’ve got a trail to blaze.” His hand shackled onto her wrist, and they were off.


End file.
